


Zombies Make Strange Bedfellows

by cosmosmariner



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Case Fic, Enemies Working Together, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, New Orleans, POV Outsider, Period-Typical Racism, THRUSH, Voodoo, classical definition of zombie, some violent bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmosmariner/pseuds/cosmosmariner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya joins forces with the enemy to defeat a woman so evil, even THRUSH thinks she’s gone too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zombies Make Strange Bedfellows

The night was humid and hot, smelling of freshly turned earth, Spanish moss, and the metallic scent of blood. Cicadas chirped ceaselessly while bullfrogs croaked in time with my heartbeat. I looked over at my reluctant colleague and nodded.

Illya entered the warehouse and looked around for a trip wire. Finding the doorway and hall clean, he motioned for me to follow. I pulled out my penlight and turned it onto the lowest setting. We followed the hallway a good three or four yards until we noticed a cold, steel door.

“Step back,” I said. “I’m not sure about your training in this sort of thing, but we were taught quite well the art of breaking and entering.”

Kuryakin allowed me to proceed. I was able to get through the two steel doors without a problem. When we stepped inside the room, what we saw made our blood chill. A row of men, ramrod straight under some evil spell, and in the very last row, a dark haired man that Illya obviously recognized.

“Oh, Napoleon,” the Russian said softly. “Only you would have this happen to you.”

**ONE WEEK PRIOR  
MONDAY**

THRUSH Central had informed me that UNCLE’s two lead New York agents, Solo and Kuryakin, were going to be in New Orleans, and that I was to personally make it my mission to keep an eye on them. I hadn’t been with the New Orleans section for too long; having moved here from Memphis a year before, and being recruited by THRUSH a year before that. True, I had a checkered criminal past, but I had served my time, and no one wanted a jailbird like me working for them. THRUSH looked past that and gave me an opportunity for leadership. Who would say no?

Thankfully, the dynamic duo had rented a hotel room literally across the street from my hiding place. My main co-worker, Greer, noticed the Russian attempting to blend in by going into a jazz club. Solo, in the meantime, was busy with pretty girls in the French Quarter. We decided to spilt up. I would take Solo while Greer would shadow Kuryakin.

I noticed Solo going down a dark alleyway toward a known voodoo practitioner’s apartment. Funny; I had been there a week before on THRUSH business. I wondered if Solo was investigating the same thing that I had been.

A chirp of my cufflinks alerted me that Greer was attempting to reach me.

“Julian, the Russian is genuinely off duty right now. He’s paying attention to the music. I’m going to check out here and return to HQ. You copy?”

“Sure thing, Greer. I’m onto something with Solo. I’ll make contact in about fifteen.”

Solo entered the voodoo queen’s lodging. It was too dangerous to try and listen in on his conversation without being found out myself. When he came out, he picked some imaginary lint off of his suit jacket, then pulled out a thin pen-like device and summoned his partner.

It sounded like he said something about “zombies” and “superstition.” I silently chuckled. Solo was, indeed, on the same track that I was on. I had a feeling that we would be crossing paths sooner rather than later.

**TUESDAY**

Greer was on the wrong end of a jealous husband and his gun, and THRUSH felt that the New Orleans office would be fine without a right hand man for me. That was fine; Greer held me back. This was my chance to show THRUSH that I could handle the big things.

Solo and Kuryakin were surprisingly easy to follow. The drunks in town center made it a simple task to follow them around. I could always put on a different hat or pair of glasses and look like half of the people on the street. I noticed that the two UNCLE agents were going to the same places Greer and I had been in days before, gathering the same information. Interesting…

That’s when I saw her. She had porcelain skin and looked completely out of place amongst the tanned New Orleans natives. Her red hair glowed like a beacon, even with the parasol shading her from the oppressive sun. She smiled at Solo, crooking her finger toward him.

From everything I had read about the chief New York UNCLE agent, he loved the ladies. This lady would have been impossible to dismiss. She was strangely beautiful, alluring, but radiated danger. She must have been catnip to a man like Solo.

Kuryakin seemed interested in her, too, but he kept cautioning his partner that they weren’t there for romance. Solo shrugged him off and walked toward her.

Minutes later, he announced to his partner that he had a dinner date with the mysterious red haired lady, and continued on his merry way. I decided to make Solo my priority. Solo left the hotel alone and walked towards the Commander’s Palace restaurant. I followed him. The red haired lady met him outside, but instead of going inside the Commander’s Palace, the two walked into the darkness.

I knew there was trouble. The red haired woman was no ordinary dame; she was the infamous Cecilie Richard, known as LeRoux. She was bent on creating an army for herself using unorthodox methods, and had been involved in many strange disappearances over the last six months. Hushed tones around the various wards in the parish claimed that she was a bokor. My THRUSH superiors would have been displeased at what I did next, but my sense of honor, warped as it was, made me feel as though I should give Solo a sporting chance.

I walked to the hotel and asked for Mr. Kuryakin.

\----

“So, why would THRUSH give UNCLE agents any assistance?” Kuryakin asked.

“For the same reason that your countrymen sided with the British and Americans during World War II. We have a common enemy.”

“Mr. Babineaux, you’re telling me that this young lady that my partner absconded with, she is LeRoux? That is a masculine nickname.”

“Yes,” I said. “My late partner Greer and I determined that LeRoux is not a man, but is this woman. She’s mad, Mr. Kuryakin, and I am willing to lay aside my loyalty to THRUSH if you are willing to allow me safe passage after this is said and done.”

Kuryakin was silent for a moment. Clearly, he was considering the alternatives. Finally, he looked up, a peculiar look in his blue eyes. “If we’re going to do this, you might as well call me Illya.”

**THURSDAY**

Between the notes that Solo had taken, the research that I had done and Kuryakin’s own deductive skills, we narrowed down places to begin our search for LeRoux, the missing people, and Solo. Thinking it might be too dangerous to split up, we decided to travel together. One name kept coming up from our inquiries: Minerva.

Minerva, no last name given, was a mambo who lived three hours outside of the city. I had been looking for this woman for over a month, but Kuryakin was able to get her address within two hours. We drove an airboat- Illya at the wheel - and wound up at this small shack with corrugated metal roofing and a lean-to porch. There were bottles hanging from the trees and a statue of Mother Mary in a bathtub in the front yard.

I knocked on the door. The bottles clinked in the wind, and we heard a voice from inside the house. “Y’all come on inside. Ain’t got all day.”

We walked inside, where a woman was sitting at the kitchen table, shelling peas. She looked to be Cajun, but it was impossible to know. Her skin was leathery and brown from years in the bayou sun, with many large age spots covering her arms and face. Her hair was frizzy and white, and her eyes were slightly milky from cataracts. She looked harmless enough, but Kuryakin and I had been around enough to know that usually appearances lied. 

“Y’all ain’t here for a social call, I reckon?” she drawled.

“No, ma’am. My name is Julian Babineaux, and this is Illya Kuryakin.“

“Kuryakin. Ain’t from around here.”

“No, madam,” the Russian said. “We’re looking for Minerva?”

“Ya found ya mama,” she said, barely concealing her frustration. “Now why ya lookin’ for her?”

I took the lead, falling into the familiar patois of my childhood. “Ma’am, we’re lookin’ for a mambo and we heard Minerva was the best there was in the area.”

The old woman laughed. “Ya heard right. C’mon cher, bring your pretty partner with you and let’s go outside. Ya want some tea? Lemonade? Or just a snort of the good stuff?”

Illya and I both declined refreshments, but she took a large glass full of ice, splashed in a jigger of bourbon and filled the rest of sweet tea. We went outside, where Minerva walked around the trees and tapped on a few bottles for good measure.

“Now, you boys look like you aren’t too comfortable with what I do. So, tell ya mama why you lookin’ for a mambo?”

Illya cleared his throat and spoke first. “We have reason that a colleague of mine has been abducted by a woman called LeRoux.”

Minerva interrupted him. “LeRoux. She’s no bokor. My great-grandmother was a leader in the community, and when she was ill, she passed the mantle to me. I held on to that honor for many years, and then this… this LeRoux comes along, with all these crazy ideas about raising up an army. I tell you, children, she is playin’ with fire. The spirits will not stay with her.”

“How do we stop her?” Illya asked. “From our research, her methods are not traditional.”

“No, no, they ain’t traditional. Or right. She takes the knowledge with no respect, and she uses it for her own self. She evil, that one. I ought to call my granny down and ask her what she wanna do to her.”

I looked over at Illya, who was obviously uncomfortable with the talk of spirits and calling dead people for help. He shook his head, and asked again how to stop LeRoux.

Minerva took a large swig from her cup and smiled. “Son, you know more than you think you do. Listen to ya mama for a second. She makin’ zombies out there.”

“Zombies?” I asked incredulously.

“Would I lie to you, cher?” she said. “LeRoux makin’ her own slaves. Perfect ones, too, ‘cause they don’t need to think or ask, they just follow her command. Tell ya mama, they been havin’ these crimes that make no sense, right? Victims who say that they look at these old boys and they ain’t got a soul? They ain’t! She done took the soul and she keeps them in a totem. Find her totems. Find her place. When you cut the head off the snake, the body dies.”

With that, Minerva walked back inside her house and shut her door tightly. I looked at Kuryakin and shrugged. “So much for that.”

Illya frowned, his forehead creased with intense concentration. “No, I think Minerva helped. I’m just remembering what the gypsies had told me when I was a younger man. Julian, do you think you know where LeRoux might be keeping her zombies?”

I shook my head, headed to the airboat and strapped a belt around my waist. Illya jumped into the driver’s side and began the trek back to New Orleans. Once we got the airboat back to its mooring and into my car, Illya spoke again.

“Julian, if there’s anything you’re holding back, please… I know that I’m not supposed to work with you, and that I may very well put my employment with UNCLE in jeopardy, but Napoleon wouldn’t leave me behind, and I can’t do that to him. Even if it means I have to partner with you for the time being. Tell me everything you know, even down to the smallest detail.”

I looked over at him. In the setting sun, he looked much older than he was. The stress and worry of his partner in the clutches of a madwoman like Richard was too much for him. I swallowed hard and tapped my feet against the dashboard after bringing them inside the car.

“Let’s go back to my office. Greer might have had something in another one of his journals. He took a lot of notes, and sometimes I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Maybe you can.”

**SATURDAY**

We had gone over Greer’s notebooks meticulously, noting everything that he had jotted down, trying to piece together what may or may not have been absolute junk.

Suddenly, from the street below, we heard a woman scream and the guttural grunt of a man. Illya ran to the window to see a hulking beast of a man, lumbering toward the cemetery.

He seemed to walk with no purpose or intent, other than to grab what gold he could; his hands were full of jewelry. However, he was walking far too slowly to be a normal thief.

Illya and I looked at each other. “Zombie,” I said.

We both ran down the stairs to the street, where we followed the zombie as far as we could. Illya kept trying to stop him, to no avail. I shot the man in the shoulder but he kept walking. Nothing seemed to phase him. Finally, he stopped at the tomb of Marie Leveau and knelt. There he stayed, motionless, for a good three or four minutes. I took my opportunity and grabbed the gold jewelry back from him. The zombie then shook his head and made a horrible, screeching sound. He fell over, holding his throat, and then lay motionless.

Illya took his pulse. “Dead,” he said, tossing the man’s hand away.

“Aren’t they already dead?” I asked.

“I don’t think they are truly dead. I think they are just under some sort of hypnotic suggestion,” Illya replied. “I won’t know until we are able to see them all together.”

“Let’s not waste time, though. We need to go through this zombie’s pockets, look at his shoes, anything to give us clues.”

“You’re right, Julian. This time, the dead will not keep it’s secrets.”

\---

Upon going through the zombie’s wallet, we discovered that his name was William Turpin, and that he had been reported by his family six weeks earlier. He had a heart condition, and that was most likely what he died from. However, it didn’t explain his connection to LeRoux.

Going to Turpin’s last known address, we found a young man who lived there. I asked if he knew Mr. Turpin, and the young man answered that he was his cousin. When Illya asked if Mr. Turpin had discussed a red haired woman before, the young man frowned.

“Will did, actually. He said this red haired lady kept asking him to do odd jobs for her. He said he felt weird about her, but she offered him a lot of money. They were going to meet the day that he went missing.”

Illya and I glanced at one another, recognition in our eyes. “And do you know where?” I asked.

“Sure, down in the warehouse district outside of Metairie. When I told the police, they said that no one had seen him. But I still think that red haired lady had something to do with him going missing.”

We thanked him and went back to Kuryakin’s hotel room, maps strewn across the bed. The shadows under Kuryakin’s eyes were growing darker and darker, and I knew he was working off of very little sleep.

I called THRUSH Central that night, asking for all their intell on Cecilie Richard that they would give. My colleague in Pass Christian sent a wire to me and confirmed a few key elements that Illya and I had uncovered.

It appeared that Richard did indeed own a few warehouses near Metairie. Illya immediately wanted to drive there from my apartment, but I demanded a few hours of sleep.

“After all, how can we save zombies if we become zombies ourselves?” I asked.

**SUNDAY**

Illya decided to stake out the warehouses to see if they were what we were looking for. I went back to Minerva’s home in the bayou to see if the old woman had any more information for me.

The swamp was creepier than it had been before. The wind began to howl, sending the spirit bottles she had hung in the trees crashing into each other. I ran to the door, calling out to her. I could hear her chanting and humming something. The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

“You’ve come back, cher. Did you bring that Russian with you?”

“No ma’am. It’s just me. I think I have some information to share with you, but you have to help me.”

She hummed again, her body swaying with an invisible force field. “Julian, tell ya mama what you wish. But I still say, you cut the head off the snake, the body will die.”

“We think we found the place where LeRoux keeps the zombies. Now, tell me, what would she use as totems? Where would she keep the souls?”

Minerva cackled, ran outside into the howling wind and rain and grabbed a stick. She beat on a bottle hanging in the tree until it cracked. “Silly boy like you, asking me for things he ought to understand. LeRoux gonna keep that as close to her as possible. She thinks she gets power from it. She gonna keep that on her, or near her. Watch her eyes, son. Watch her eyes, she’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Minerva, how do I thank you?”

“You bring that Illya back to my house, ya hear? And bring his man, too.”

“How did you…”

“Ya mama knows all, ya mama sees all. Now, cher, bring that Russian and his man back here. Go on, get.”

I drove by the warehouse in Metairie and waited for Illya to meet up with me. He slipped into the car and told me to drive around the block.

“Julian, I think I found it. There’s a warehouse with precious few windows, and I kept tabs on who goes in and who goes out. I think I saw LeRoux go in.”

I smiled and slapped my hand against the steering wheel. “Perfect! I have some news about the totems, too. I went back to see Minerva. She said that Richard would keep the totems close to her at all times because she believes it’s the source of her power.”

“Then we’ll have to keep our eyes open.”

I parked the car in an empty spot and we doubled back to the warehouse. Illya mentioned that there was only one way in and out of the building. We found our way into the building, looking around for people, for Richard’s henchman (if she had any), for any and all clues.

The steel doors slammed shut behind us, and one of the zombies shuffled his away toward a large switch. He moved the heavy switch down, causing an eruption of sparks and a whoosh of air across the length of the room. Suddenly, flames began to lick up the sides of the wall. A wall of burning heat pressed against the first row of men, their greasy rags combusting into balls of fire.

“She must have programmed the zombies to go into self-destruct mode when someone other than herself came through those doors,” Illya said, his voice still calm.

“We were incredibly stupid to think it would have been so easy,” I replied.

Through a window at the back of the room, we could see Cecilie Richard in her laboratory, grabbing vials and syringes while her zombified experiments perished in the fire. The smell of burning flesh assaulted my nose. I stopped to vomit several times, but Kuryakin soldiered on, single minded in the pursuit of his partner.

“Illya! I see him!” I bellowed, pointing to the end row of zombies.

“I’ll go to him, Julian. You need to try and save as many of these innocents as you can.”

I rankled at the thought of this UNCLE agent giving me orders, but I had to agree with him. However…

“How is it possible? They follow only Richard’s command.”

Illya looked at his partner, noticing the waxy pallor and glassy eyes. “You’re right. You’re completely right. May I say that you are quite possibly the smartest THRUSH operative we’ve encountered yet?”

“Smarter than Angelique?”

The Russian sneered and ignored my verbal jab. “We have to stop her. But how?“

I thought for a moment, watching another row of exanimate, mentally paralyzed humanity burn to their death. Sickened by the sight before me, I closed my eyes and tried to remember what the voodoo woman Minerva had said to me only hours before.

“Minerva… she kept saying that we needed to cut the head off of the snake.”

“Find a door into that room. We’ll end this now,” Kuryakin said.

Illya and I entered the large room, sneaking in while LeRoux gathered her supplies. She was surrounded mostly by small boxes and half-filled vials. Somehow, I knew that one of the two were her totems, and that we needed to destroy them if we had any hopes of getting Solo out of here alive.

Kuryakin smiled that cold, crazy smile of his. “That’s it. Julian, it’s Richard. She’s the snake, don’t you see? How do we cut the head off of the snake?”

I looked directly into his icy blue eyes. “If we kill her, the zombies will no longer be under the spell. We must kill Richard.”

Illya shook his head. “There must be another way. I can’t have her blood on my hands.”

“Even if it means Napoleon’s life?”

He stayed very quiet.

We circled the area, blocking off all methods of escape. Richard was trapped inside the room. I held my gun out while Illya kept his hidden. 

“Drop everything, LeRoux!”

LeRoux smiled, looking possessed by something that was beyond my comprehension.

“So, you found me,” she said, her voice oddly calm in the midst of the raging fire and impending death.

“Cecilie Richard, also known as LeRoux, you are coming with us. You are under authority of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, and you are to come peacefully,” Illya said.

Richard smiled again, and crossed her arms. “No, you are coming with me. To hell!” she laughed. “I have one of your men already, and I’ll get you, too.”

Illya’s eyes were wild with rage and grief. “Release Napoleon. Release him from your plan. I’ll offer myself instead.”

“How nice. How very quaint! Such loyalty amongst the men of UNCLE. But I don’t allow it. Napoleon is mine, as you will be mine. Only my very special boys are coming with me. The rest are expendable. I can find more, I can make more.” She waved her hand towards the boxes.

The boxes. My chance had come.

“Illya! Run to the warehouse floor! I’ve got this!” I screamed.

Illya immediately left, leaving me with LeRoux. She smiled seductively, and for a moment I was tempted to succumb to her charms and hold her close to me. She was, truly, a remarkably beautiful woman. I raised my gun toward her, my hand shaking.

Her face fell. “You caught me, copper.” She chuckled. “But I still have the power.”

LeRoux lifted her hands to the sky, chanted something that caused chills to run down my spine. I could see the zombies through the window, heading toward Illya, a murderous look on their faces. I knew that Illya would be torn apart by these monsters, and that Napoleon would then die. My chances weren’t looking too good, either. Normally, I would be happy to see my UNCLE foes defeated, but Richard was a villain that even I didn’t feel confident about.

I did what any good THRUSH agent would do. I took direct aim at LeRoux’s forehead and fired a single shot. She fell to the ground, twitching. I calmly walked up to her and shot her again in the heart. She stopped moving.

Her blood pooled dark like melted cherry chocolate. The smell was strong and animal; I watched as her life’s essence spilled across the ground. I looked over at the boxes on the table. Taking a deep breath, I reached out and pushed the boxes onto the floor. They crashed and shattered, leaving its devastation in LeRoux’s blood.

Looking toward the window, I could see LeRoux’s captives slowly coming back to waking life. They wandered aimlessly, searching for help, and in their midst I could see my erstwhile partner holding up the weakened body of his friend and colleague.

I ran out the door toward them. Helping as best I could, I ushered the remaining former zombies toward the exits. All in all, LeRoux had abducted roughly forty-seven men. Illya and I watched eight of them burn to death, knowing that there was nothing we could do. 

Going back into the night air, I could again smell the Spanish moss, and took several deep breaths to cleanse my nostrils of the scent of Cecilie Richard’s blood, and the smell of burning human flesh. Illya and Napoleon had sat down on the pavement. Napoleon’s weary head fit perfectly into Illya’s shoulder. The Russian had his arms around his partner, doing what he could to comfort in an uncomfortable situation.

Once I had gotten every living person out of the warehouse, I called the authorities from the security phone that was located on a pole across the street, being careful not to mention who my employer was. I ran back to Illya, knowing that the next time I saw him, we would no longer be allies.

“I wanted to say goodbye. I called the cops, and they will assist all of these men, and your man, as well.”

Solo looked confused and more than a little disoriented. “But…but aren’t you THRUSH?”

Kuryakin nodded. “Today, he’s just a friend.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “Thank you, Julian, for what you did. I’ll never forget it.”

“It was nothing,” I replied. “Solo, take care of yourself. Stay out of danger.”

“Redheads are too dangerous. I’ll stick with blondes, and one in particular,” Solo muttered, looking sideways at Illya, then giving a mischievous smile.

As I walked away, I could hear the Russian laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for the MFU Scrapbook Halloween Challenge, 2011, at LJ.
> 
> This fic was partially inspired by the classic film, "I Walked With A Zombie".
> 
> I've based the character of Minerva on a few Louisiana natives I went to college with. Obviously, none of them were bokor, but they did talk this way. If anything, I cleaned it up some. :)
> 
> Also - and very important - Illya uses the term "gypsy" when discussing his time spent with Romani people. I used the word because it is canon-appropriate usage and period-typical, however, I do not personally condone this word when used in conjunction with the Roma.


End file.
